Double Ninth Festival
by the-cloud-whisperer
Summary: Zuko and Aang celebrate the Double Ninth Festival with their daughter by climbing a mountain and musing on mortality.


**A/N**: I decided to make this short piece a series in conjunction with my other stories Mid-Autumn Festival and Qixi Festival! So consider them all to be within the same universe. It is not canon compliant, and I've included a little timeline below that also explains the changes made to tie up all loose ends.

100 AG: Sozin's comet. Aang is 12, Zuko 16.

**105 AG: Mid-Autumn Festival. **Aang 17, Zuko 21.

107 AG: Zuko and Mai get married.

110 AG: Izumi born.

114 AG: Harmonic Convergence (canon divergence). Aang deals with Vaatu, airbenders pop up around the world. Commence the interminable work of building Republic City, rebuilding the Air Nation. Basically the events of LoK Book 2 and 3 got transplanted here instead.

118 AG: Mai leaves Zuko, choose your reason. I tend to go with "got fed up with the constraints of high-society life which she hated so much in childhood so why would she put up with it in adulthood?"

**120 AG: Qixi Festival. **Aang 32, Zuko 36.

128 AG: Yue Fei born.

**140 AG: Double Ninth Festival. **Aang 52, Zuko 56. Yue Fei is 12.

* * *

The high mountain air in the ranges outside Republic City is chillier than Zuko remembers, biting breezes searching for a weakness in many layers of clothing. He wraps his cloak tighter around himself, clenching his fist, skin loosely drawn around protruding, arthritic knuckles. It's not the weather, he realizes. It's himself.

They reach the peak of the mountain by midday and settle down for lunch. Zuko watches curiously as Yue Fei picks apart the bouquet in their picnic basket, separating cornels from chrysanthemum stalks. She seems intent on her task, just as Aang prepares to steam and reheat the flower cake over a campfire for their meal. For once, Zuko has nothing to do but watch his two dear ones in candid admiration and huddle a little closer to the fire.

At twelve, Yue Fei's fingers are cunning and nimble, just like Aang's, and with some intricate threading technique that Zuko can't quite follow, she weaves together twigs of bright red berries and yellow chrysanthemums to form a sturdy wreath.

"Look, Daddy!" She shows Aang proudly, and he smiles, broad and beautiful, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes gathering shadows under the mild noonday sun.

"Give that to your father; it'll make my head itch," he says.

Zuko graciously accepts the wreath Yue Fei places on his head, nestling comfortably in his hair (_take that, Sifu Arrowhead_). "Did Sister Jinora teach you how to make this?"

"Nope, Ikki did! It only took me two tries the first time I learned it!" Yue Fei boasts.

"And did Sister Ikki tell you why we wear cornel and chrysanthemum on Double Ninth Festival?" Zuko presses on, his didactic instinct rearing its head. Aang laughs as he tends to the flower cake, having been on the receiving end of Zuko's lectures many times during his firebending training.

"Um…" Yue Fei hesitates.

Aang saves her. "According to the legend, a demon once terrorized the people living along the Ruhe River." He indicates the river's trajectory in the plains to the west of their vantage point. "The demon often caused a deadly plague, and among its victims were the parents of the story's hero, Huan Jing.

"When Huan Jing grew up, he swore to put an end to the demon's rampage. He sought out one of the immortals, who gave him a magic sword and a posy of cornels and chrysanthemum flowers. The demon was repelled by these, so Huan Jing distributed the flowers among the people to protect them. Then he slew the demon with his sword."

"So the plagues stopped after that?" Yue Fei asks, concern etched across her childish features.

"Well, the demon didn't cause the plague." Zuko takes up the storytelling mantle, trying to insert some logic here. "It was because the Ruhe River flooded its banks every spring, and its water mixed with sewage and manure from latrines and livestock in the fields. The contaminated water would recede into the river, people drank it, got sick and died. In all likelihood, the real Huan Jing didn't kill any demons. He was probably an engineer who oversaw the construction of the Ruhe River dam about six centuries ago, the period of history ascribed to this legend."

"Thank you, Zuko," Aang interrupts, pointedly raising his eyebrows at Yue Fei, his captive audience.

_Oh, right. _Yue Fei's parents died in one of the smaller epidemics of Republic City's poorer neighborhoods a few years ago, before sanitation regulations were properly enforced. "I mean, _metaphorically_ he did defeat the demon in the sense that he stopped the source of the plague," he perseveres, trying to rework his attitude for Yue Fei's benefit.

"So that's why we make the cornel wreath." Yue Fei nods wisely, in no way acknowledging the nonsensical origins of the custom. "But Daddy, you don't have one, so you won't be protected."

Aang shakes his head, unconcerned about the lack of divine floral intervention on his behalf, and starts slicing the flower cake, knife sinking through the custardy depths at a glacial pace. "Here, love, try some." He offers Yue Fei a slice topped with brilliant dates and jujubes. She tastes it dubiously, forehead wrinkled and mouth puckered in an expression that Aang interprets as continued concern for his safety.

"Don't worry about me; I've defeated plenty of monsters and villains in my time," Aang says. "More than you have hairs on your head, in fact. The wreath is just for fun—there are no more monsters left to fight. Your father and I, we've taken care of them all."

He smiles at Zuko, simple but sensuous in the mild upturn of the corners of his lips, so minute that an outsider might miss it, but Zuko? Never. Nothing about Aang is minor enough to dismiss as unimportant, not the coy crook of his index finger as he beckons Zuko to come get his own slice of cake, not the sly kiss he sneaks as Zuko bends over him to take the plate, not the impish gleam in his eyes as he turns back to Yue Fei, cherishing that kiss even as he pretends to remain blasé and unaffected.

Aang launches into yet another tale of their adventures in the Hundred Year War and its aftermath, dramatized for their impressionable daughter's entertainment. Soothing rebellions and bringing peace to the chaotic world has taken up most of their lives. It was nothing so romantic as the history books make it out to be.

The wreath shifts against Zuko's temples, its knotted strands comprising a different kind of crown than the one he lay down. Fire Lord Izumi is a wise and capable leader in his stead, and the Fire Nation has no more need of him. The budding Air Nation has taken strong root under the leadership of new masters, many of whom Aang trained from childhood as Air Acolytes.

They have no more villains to fight, no more wars to end, no more responsibilities to shoulder. For the first time, he and Aang have the freedom to focus on enjoying themselves and their daughter. Their only constraint is their age and its natural consequences.

Aang is fifty-two, Zuko fifty-six, but in reality, Aang is one hundred and fifty-two, and there are days when it shows. Long afternoon naps, long enough to stretch almost to evening. A tiny easing of his step—Zuko wouldn't go so far as to call it slowing, but Toph's old favorite nickname of Twinkletoes certainly seems less than appropriate now. Difficulty with word-finding—Zuko will listen to Aang's speech falter at times in normal conversation, pondering, meandering, before he finally blurts out, "Hippo-cow! Guru, that's the word I was looking for, those pesky creatures." A hesitant memory, forgetting tiny details of their travails together, aspects so subtle that most people wouldn't know to listen for them. But Zuko hears them, and his heart aches, just like their knees and their backs do nowadays, and ah, who knew that the last enemy to face would be Time?

He stands hastily, hoping nothing in his expression gives him away. Aang is still rambling about how he defeated a sea serpent once upon a time, Yue Fei listening, enraptured, but he stops as he notices Zuko's aberrance.

"Zuko?"

"It's nothing." He gestures vaguely at the fire, the first flimsy excuse to come to mind. "Just going to…" In the universal gesture for 'firewood', he jerks a thumb at the small wooded areas along the trail just downhill of their site. "Be right back."

* * *

Yue Fei is napping, head cradled in his lap, when Zuko returns from his firewood-gathering expedition. Aang raises an eyebrow at his love's troubled expression, and Zuko meets his eyes sheepishly.

"I've always loved your pedagogic side, Sifu Hotman." Aang means it, only half-joking. He gets half an exasperated smile out of Zuko—well, that's some progress.

"Don't call me that," Zuko mutters out of reflex. He steps around the fire to come sit at Aang's side.

"Okay, Your Fieriness," Aang comes back cheekily. He leans back to reach for the picnic basket, careful not to disturb a sleeping Yue Fei, and pulls out a narrow flagon, winking conspiratorially at Zuko. "Quick, while she's still asleep."

Zuko takes the flagon; the chrysanthemum wine is cool but bracing, and he passes it back to Aang after a long drink.

"You reminded me of Toph."

That's probably not what Zuko expected to hear. "How so?" he asks.

He's told Zuko about the first time he visited Cranefish Town after the war, celebrating Yangchen's festival and paying homage to Lady Tienhai's statue along with Sokka, Katara, the young Air Acolytes, and most notably, without Toph.

"She hated the idea of bowing to some statue for no reason other than 'It's just how things are done,'" Aang recalls. "At the time, I didn't know the story of Lady Tienhai, nor the reasons behind Yangchen's festival."

"That's the whole point of having traditions, though," Zuko points out. "So that we learn from history, so that we don't forget the sacrifices people before us made."

"Okay!" Aang claps his hands in eagerness, at the last moment remembering to reign in his palms so they don't resonate too loud and wake Yue Fei. "I got this. Listen up, my dear pupil. Here are the customs of Double Ninth Festival, for your edification." He starts to count off on his fingers.

_One. _"We wear cornels and chrysanthemums to remember Huan Jing and his demon, even though it was probably a dam and not a supernatural being."

_Two. _"We drink chrysanthemum wine because look! We have extra chrysanthemums, might as well stick them in a jar for a few weeks to get tipsy on the fermented remains." Zuko struggles to suppress his laughter, so there's some more progress.

_Three. _"We eat the flower cake with jujubes and dates because cake is a homophone for tall, high places, which is also why we go hiking on this day."

"Probably to escape the demon." Zuko says this in a tone of voice so dry and brittle that Aang could almost believe that he means it.

"I wonder if that's the origin of the Blue Spirit legend," Aang muses. "An evil water spirit that brings cholera to the land once a year."

Zuko looks intensely miffed at his former alter ego accused of being a mere mischief maker who plagued people with lethal diarrheic bouts. _Yeah, I can see why that might be offensive. _

"It's also a tradition for old people to go hiking to celebrate the great age we've attained in life, and to be blessed with longevity. And also because the number nine is a homophone for longevity. And for wine as well, but we don't want to overdo that one." Aang finally meanders back to the topic at hand, having lost count of the traditions he's supposed to be enumerating.

He occupies himself with rewinding the conversation, trying to remember what he's already mentioned, only to notice that Zuko has withdrawn into himself, looking all broody again. "What's wrong, love?"

Zuko has frustratingly chosen to seat himself just out of reach, and Aang flaps an impatient hand at him to get him to come nearer. Yue Fei shifts in his lap, dangerously close to rolling off to the side, and he gently curls one hand around her chin, keeping her in place even as he chivvies a grumpy Zuko to nestle against his side.

He rests his head on Aang's shoulder, a perfect position for avoiding eye contact, Aang realizes too late. Still, the resonance of his voice from such close contact comforts Aang. "I was thinking about… longevity. Or maybe lack thereof. Mortality. Death. That kind of thing."

His disjointed pattern of response is less than reassuring. "You mean just in general, or…?"

"Specifically as it relates to _you._"

_Ah._

"I didn't think it would take forty years after defeating my father to set the world to rights. And now time is our enemy." Zuko plucks morosely at the edge of his cape, winding the fabric around one hand in a loose knot until it exhausts itself.

"The young have aspirations that never come to pass; the old have reminiscences of what never happened," Aang quotes. _How's that for didactics, Sifu Hotman? _

"We don't fit into the former group, and I don't plan on exemplifying the latter either. I'm happy with how far I've come in life, Zuko," he says plainly. "I've achieved everything I wanted to do. All that's left to me is to spend my time with you and Yue Fei, and there's no expiration date on that."

Zuko looks down, intertwining their fingers, worrying at the back of Aang's hand with his thumb. "Aren't you… angry at the universe for giving you so little time, though? It's hardly fair to you."

"Or _you,_" Aang prods, reminding Zuko that it's okay to be a little selfish, to be afraid of being left behind. It's only human. "It is what it is: life."

Zuko nods. Aang wishes he could give him a more comforting answer, but in the end, there are no words he could say to remedy the aches of old age and impending bereavement.

Together, they watch the sun dip in the sky, the city before them alive with reminiscences of all they have accomplished and triumphed over. It is enough.

* * *

**A/N**: Double Ninth Festival (重陽節，_Chongyang Festival) _falls on the ninth day of the ninth lunar month, varying between mid- and late October in the Western Calendar. I ended up choosing Double Ninth as the setting for my story after an anonymous prompt for Zuko and Aang with their first kid around late October and decided to google family-friendly holidays that take place around this time.

The festival traditions and legend are as told above, with the exception of Huan Jing building a dam to stem the river's floods. That's my scientific explanation for a supernatural phenomenon, but who knows? Maybe he really did defeat the river demon to save the people :D

Homophones:

糕 ('cake') and 高 ('tall, high') are both pronounced _gaō. _

九 ('nine'), 久 ('a long time, longevity'), and 酒 ('wine) are all pronounced _jiǔ. _

This festival is one that didn't really make it overseas—I have never heard of anyone celebrating it in my majority-Chinese hometown the way we celebrate Lunar New Year or Mid-Autumn Festival. I don't know how it is in SE Asia/Australia/other places with significant immigrant communities, but I suspect they don't place much stock in it either. It's probably because it doesn't have a particularly savory food component. There's the flower cake that I describe in the story, but it doesn't sound that exciting…?


End file.
